


Under the Horizon

by Scarlet_Claws



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Depression, Eventual Smut, Exophilia, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Muteness, OOC Hermes, Origin Story, Other Gods Referenced, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27975656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Claws/pseuds/Scarlet_Claws
Summary: [Science-Fiction / Cosmic Gods AU]Hermes is lost among the stars. He doesn't know where he belongs, he doesn't know where he is going. Forever cast aside by his family, he is not sure that he wants to live to see the day where he'll be truly forgotten. On a moment's impulse, he starts making his way to the supermassive black hole at the centre of the galaxy, the Styx, that can end a God's life.But, before he kills himself, he's stopped by Charon.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 104





	1. The Lost One

**Author's Note:**

> Last warning for those that might be sensitive to reading material containing mention of suicidal thoughts: please leave now. If you want to read something about Charon and Hermes, there are plenty of very talented writers out there that deserve your attention and encouragements. 
> 
> Please take care.

Stars.

He was not upside down. He wasn't anything. Just floating among the stars, his million upon million siblings. When he would close his eyes it was as if they were still open, with how their light had etched itself on the back of his retina. Or maybe it was the darkness that had left its mark, a darkness blacker than what the eye even could see yet so full.

His telecommunicator clicked on.

If he squinted his eyes enough, he could maybe distinguish the dark matter lingering on the outskirts of the galaxy. It was like a cadaver clinging to the part that was still alive and shining, yet there was a certain beauty to their half-guessed spires and senseless archways. They were lovely lovecraftian forms etched across the universe, layered upon each other by the march of a time so gigantic it couldn't be contained even inside a God's mind.

"Hermes?"

Hermes was drifting. Or not moving at all. He was so minuscule among the stars, he amounted to nothing. As it should be.

"Hermes, where are you? We're having dinner."

He unhooked the communicator from his ear. The voice was soundless when there was no air to transmit it, rather it was waves that travelled on the impressions of a voice imprinted in the God's mind. Yet that transmission would weaken with the distance, just like with sound.

He gently pushed it away from him. Set free, they started to drift apart.

"We're going to eat without you if you keep this up, Hermes."

It floated away. The light of a star thousands and thousands of light-years away caught on its shiny surface and for a second it was like it had grown insect-like wings to fly away quickly. And then he couldn't hear the voice anymore.

Hermes closed his eyes and kept them closed until the stars had full disappeared, leaving nothing but endless darkness and silence.

* * *

He gripped the frame of his spaceship's door, and that was the first solid thing he touched in a while. Or so it seemed to him, that had no idea how much time he had spent out in space, drifting. It could be a while. His communicator had had the time to vanish entirely, so it must have been a while.

The Zephyr, at least, had not drifted away. He could move through vast, empty space with ease thanks to his godly powers, but he couldn't travel as fast as a ship. Theoretically, he could train himself until he could but what was the point of that when you had a ship to do it for you?

Or at least that was what his father Zeus would say.

In zero gravity, floated into the ship's shell before closing the door behind him. Air, and with it heat, hissed through the vents, slowly filling the space. Hermes sighed.

He didn't want to go back.

There was a food storage area abroad - the closest thing there was to a kitchen on the Zephyr - right next to the strap-on couch for zero gravity. He floated in that direction and opened a cabinet, before picking out the last package. It was some sort of mashed vegetables mixed with water that wasn't soup or puree, but something between the two. He gobbled it down as fast as he could. His stomach would stop aching in a moment at least. Even a tasteless mixture like that could sate hunger. At this point, that was the extent of the enjoyment he could derive from food.

Although he did, secretly, enjoy the wooziness that came with the lack of sugar in his blood, not because it was enjoyable but because it was a sensation, at least. Just like he enjoyed the torpor that came with a lack of oxygen.

He finished the package just so that he could go longer before he needed to think of feeding himself and started the ship. The motors purred to life. It was a little marvel of technology, that ship. Hephaestus was the one that designed it and Hermes had snatched it up, named it, and had flown away with it. That felt like such a long time ago. Now its smooth shell had become a place where he could hide, like a hermit crab, and he pulled it after him from one side to another of the galaxy as he ran away from his home.

But he had to go back, eventually. Artemis would be sent out to find him, again, if he didn't.

He laid on the pilot chair and strapped himself to it but still didn't start piloting. He was looking up at the ceiling above him. Funny how the moment he had entered the ship he had found an up and a down, he thought, and then his mind was drifting again. He remembered what it was like to be in the Hall of the Gods again, at dinner. The agitation. The noise. The loud talking. The sheer... carelessness of it. Something burned inside of him, deep and hot, painfully too, like an ember trapped in an old scar. He ignored it.

He leaned forward and programmed the ship's course. He needed to go home, so that's what he was going to do.

* * *

He didn't know how she knew that he was back, but Athena was standing at the end of the landing pad when he landed at Olympus despite the late hour. Her owl, Glaukopis, flew down and perched on her shoulder as Hermes approached and she reached up to scratch her head.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Sorry, I forgot," said Hermes.

"Forgot? Again? I tried to call you on your communicator and you didn't answer."

Hermes shrugged. "I think I lost it."

"Oh, all right-- Where have you last seen it? It can't be far."

"Uuuh..." He shrugged again. Wracked his brain to find a way out of this one. "I think it was on my ship."

"Oh, then we can look at it together."

She moved towards his ship. He moved towards the inside, right past her. Her owl noticed it before she did, turning her head to look at him move again, and then she turned around.

"Hermes?" she called.

"I'm tired."

She followed him.

"There are leftovers if you want. Do you want me to get them?"

"I ate."

"What-- where did you eat? Were you with someone?"

"No-- No." He turned around to face her because it was rude to keep walking away when someone was talking to you. But really, he just wanted to go to his room. "No. I was just hanging out in my ship. I didn't realize how late it was getting. And I ate on my way back. You know. I didn't mean to miss dinner."

Lies.

"So you just forgot?" said Athena.

He winced. He knew what was coming then.

"You forgot. Again. Hermes, we're supposed to be family. Do you care?"

"I care."

"Then why don't you show it? Those meals are special. This is when we come together and talk, you know, as a _family_. Who else is going to stick it out for you out there in space?" She gestured upward, at the night sky, and the stars. "You can't do it on your own."

"I know--"

"This has to stop, Hermes. I'm going to-- This ship was not meant for you in the first place. You know that Hephastios built it for Aphrodite. It's time you leave it to her and start sticking around here."

Hermes didn't answer. That only angered Athena more.

"Answer me, brother," she said. There it was. Her serious voice.

"I don't know what to say! Yeah, I'll do it-- If you want to."

"First thing tomorrow?"

"Yeah-- Yes. First thing tomorrow. I'll give the ship back. And I'll do things with you guys."

Athena sighed and pinched her brow. Glaukopis flew off her shoulder, heading who-knows-where.

"I hate when you make me into the bad guy," she said. "What's wrong with you? Hermes, you can tell me, you know."

"I'm fine."

"You might be, but what you're doing is not _fine_. You're always headed out. Always gone. We don't see you anymore. Everyone is worried, you know."

Oh, were they now?

"I don't know," he said. "I like being alone."

"No one can stand alone. You need company, Hermes. You need to talk to us and smile again."

Hermes smiled at her. That broke her out of her serious mood and she smiled back.

"That's the spirit," she said. "Now go get some rest. It's late. You might be immortal but you need sleep too."

"Right."

"Remember, Hermes. First thing tomorrow, you give the ship back."

"Hmm."

"Night night."

"G'night."

Athena wasn't the only one that somehow knew that he was back. He thought that he would meet no one else on the way to his room. He was walking through the main inner courtyard, in the shadows of the tall archways, barely sparing a glance at the narcissus-filled flower beds. He had chased his sister out of his mind, only focusing on the next step towards his room.

The master bedroom's door opened, revealing Hera in her nightgown, alone. She stared at Hermes from across the courtyard.

He glanced at her then quickened his steps.

"So you're not even going to say hello?" she asked.

He ducked as if her words were bricks she had thrown at him. He arrived at his hallway, the one leading up to his room, and his step quickened into a jog.

"Rude boy!" she cried at him.

He ran up the steps of his tower. No other accusations chased after him, but he did hear the door of the master bedroom slamming. If his father would have been there, he would have never allowed her to treat her that way. Alas, Zeus was probably gone. Again.

His room occupied the whole top floor of his tower. Everything was round and perfectly in place there, down to the bed. He didn't bother turning on the lights. The stars, up in the unpolluted sky, was light enough for him.

He pushed the round bed from the centre of the room towards one of the windows. Up in the sky were seven stars that shone particularly bright. He flopped on his bed and looked up at them. He never lost sight of the first one among them, no matter how much time passed. Sometimes, it was as if he could tell where she was at all time, even with his eyes closed. Her name was Maia.

When he was still a little boy that had just arrived in Olympus, thrust in this room that felt too big for him, he used to talk to her. He would tell her about her day, complain about how the other Gods sometimes did things he didn't understand or didn't like. He even told her stories of make-believe, what they would do together if she wasn't a star. He imagined that she comforted her back, in his dreams, telling him that it would be all right. He was loved, even by a star.

He had been a very foolish child.

He had only vague memories of his mother. It was as if she had already been a star in her lifetime. She had smelled of comfort and love, and had held him so tight that the world couldn't ever reach him in her arms. And then she would whisper things to him. "My beautiful child. So swift. Don't run too far away, not yet. Not yet."

And then she was gone. And when he had asked where she was, his father had pointed to the star with her name in the sky. "There she is, Hermes, little one. She'll watch over you forever now, don't you worry."

But it was nothing but a star. A single star, lost among the millions of stars among the universe. He could talk to it all he wanted, he wasn't special to Maia. Anyone could talk to Maia if they wished, and decide that she was their mother, because the real Maia, his mother, was dead. Gone forever. And he was immortal!

He laid flat on his back among the cushions of his bed, his head turned to the tall window that separated him from the night air. He got up on his knees and crawled over to open it, and then he leaned over the edge. He had a view on the inner courtyard. Actually, he was quite high.

Gripping the window frame, he leaned over. His head, then his torso passed over the edge. And then his centre of gravity did as well so that the only thing holding him up was his thin arms. At that moment, they felt so frail, like they could snap at any moment. He was frail. He couldn't quite get a grip on what was happening around him - not just now but all the time, like he was constantly lacking air, like he was back up there, floating. It was for the best.

He imagined he was a mortal. He imagined letting go. He imagined himself falling, falling, falling. They would find him like that, the next day, head splattered about but really he would be falling forever, immortal in the few seconds that he would live between the window and the hard ground.

He pulled himself back and closed the window. Sleep was the last place he could truly, completely forget.


	2. Crown of Stars

Hermes was not blessed with sleep for very long. He woke up at dawn when the sun of Olympus was only peeking through the windows. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that he had not slept enough, yet he also knew that he wasn't going to be able to sleep again. There was something-- something he needed to do.

His ship. He was going to give it back-- No, not _his_ ship. That was not his ship. He had sort of stolen it, that was true, but not really. What was Aphrodite going to do with a ship? She didn't need to leave her home on Olympus to be adored by the mortals. She didn't even care that she had received a present.

No one really cared around here.

He stood up from bed, realized that he had not changed from last night, and decided that it was good enough. He didn't feel like he had the strength to care when it looked good enough. If he had been living alone, he wouldn't even care, but he was living with others that were nosy enough to try and force him to change if they say that he was letting himself go. As long as he could keep appearances... they wouldn't ask questions. He had to do it.

As he made his way through the Hall of the Gods, the world registered as if through a veil. It didn't feel quite real when there was no other God to fill it up with their pointless chatter. But then again, the other Gods, his family, didn't quite feel real to him. They were like husks on a stage, a stage that was all of Hermes' world. They entered and exited to trample him carelessly, with all their different parts in the plays that they enacted again and again. And it would be so for all of eternity. That's what it meant to be immortal, stuck in this universe until it was destroyed and even beyond, except for those that had managed to get away.

Like his mother.

There was the Zephyr, sitting on the edge of the landing pad. He could do this, right? Something so simple. Just... move it from his spot to Aphrodite's. He had piloted it what seemed like a thousand times, it was fine to think that this one more time was going to be fine.

He opened the door and climbed in. There it was, the familiar decor, the leather interior that he had grown to know so well. He ran a hand over the head of the pilot seat. He aimlessly opened and closed the empty cabinets. He looked out through the frontal window, at their personal spaceport.

What an absurd thing. A spaceport was meant to be a place where many people gather before leaving their home, a place where nothing really mattered because it was but a stop in your journey. A _personal_ spaceport was just another room in their house. They had taken all the flavour out of it by taming it to their liking.

He sat in the pilot seat. This wasn't supposed to be his spot. This had been meant for Aphrodite.

He looked at her reserved spot of the spaceport. There already was a ship on her landing pad, one of the latest models in vogue among the mortals she favoured most at the moment. She'd drive this one and, in a week, she'd have a new favourite. She wouldn't even touch the Zephyr.

He could just leave, he told himself. It was early. No one would know if he took that ship on a joy ride, one last time. No one would care, except maybe Athena if she ever noticed a thing.

He turned on the motor and drove upwards, into space. The Hall of the Gods, spread across the surface of Olympus like a grotesque hand, grew smaller and smaller. And so did his worries, they faded away, gradually disappearing behind fog in his mind. If he didn't have to think of it, he didn't, and he was so good at pushing it all away.

The universe was open in front of him. All those stars, gathered in clusters. Clouds of dust as large as titans moved around him. It was all full of light, of reaction. Never would the sight grow tiresome to him.

So gigantic, and yet without a single place where he could hide away.

Because they always found him, and he belonged with them since the day he had been brought in-- no. Since the day he had been born to his mother, he belonged to them. Just because he happened to be the son of Zeus. And now he was stuck to them, tied up to all of those horrible people by invisible, unbreakable fate strings. He couldn't stand it and he couldn't fight it.

He stopped the Zephyr's engine and rubbed his face. For a second, he thought that he had been about to cry. He had felt that familiar hit in the chest, like he was feeling something, but he suddenly realized that it rang hollow.

He had stopped fearing even that, recently.

Really, it was stupid that _this_ was the thing that tipped him over the edge. He had lived through such feeling a thousand times. There had been moments where Hera had been screaming at him, where Athena had been deeply disappointed by his behaviour, where even his father had disapproved of him. Yet, at that moment where he rubbed his face and found no tears on his cheeks, that was when he realized that he just couldn't take it. Or, rather, that he didn't care if he couldn't.

He turned the engine back on. It purred to life and he thought that it was a beautiful sound. Really, everything about the Zephyr was beautiful, forged with all the desperate love of a man that wanted to show himself for who he truly was. Hermes suddenly felt so lucid as he looked at the curve of the dashboard in front of him. Even that was agreeable to the eye. How much pain had Hephaestus gone through simply to achieve that perfect curve? How much suffering was the universe built on, this universe now ruled by the selfish Gods?

He felt detached from all of that. He was far away, in his mind, beyond the limits of this plane, and he saw everything for what it was. So many new ideas occurred to him as he piloted his ship, enough to fill ten philosophy books, yet they did not matter. They were fleeting, chasing each other, like spectres, and the tenuous links of logic that held them together eluded Hermes.

He gravitated towards the centre of the galaxy, where the stars were the closest together, shone the brightest. Mortals, despite the many dangers of living in this area, always seemed to desire those paces for themselves, and so war often raged in some place or another of the Central Disk. But even the most advanced of technology couldn't detect the Zephyr, and he effortlessly slipped between the zones of conflict like he was nothing but a shadow.

And then he reached the place even the bravest of mortals seldom explored.

Large galaxies had, at their core, a dark heart that held them together. This one was no exception, really. A supermassive black hole was a terrifying beast, of gargantuan proportions, sitting at the top of the table from which it feasted - and its habitual meal was its little sisters the stars. For a galaxy to form, to have a beginning and a present, it needed an end: here it was, larger than any god could ever be, and Hermes in his minuscule ship was standing in front of it.

He cut the motors and unhooked himself from the pilot's seat. From there, he went to open the door, chasing out all of the air and its humidity in a cloud of instantly-frozen fog. It blew out of the ship but, instead of dissipating instantly, it converged together in a column pointing towards the black hole, as if showing the way. Hermes poked his head out and looked at his final destination.

Calling it a black hole sounded ironic when one observed it. It was crowned with stars as far as the eye could see, fields upon fields of them, with strings of flaming light like the threads of Arachne holding them together. What a beautiful tiara did this tyrant have, so beautiful that the eye hurt when looking at it. But then one would turn their gaze towards the centre, and they would _know_ that it was there. Even mortals could feel it. Space and time were distorted in such a way that it should be impossible, yet it was doing just that. The fabric of reality, usually so real, trembled, raising a timid feathered wing to reveal a hollow chest. And suddenly, what you thought had been a chicken bearing gifts such as the powers of the Gods was revealed to be headless, pecking away at the universe with no appetite or discernment.

They called this place the Styx.

Already was his ship drifting towards its call. Hermes felt it too. Slowly but surely, he was losing the sense of floating that was so familiar to him when he was out in space and the Styx became his below. He stepped out of the ship. He wasn't drifting this time. He finally had a destination.

He quicked the Zephyr to give himself a headstart, sending it flying back for, unless it met something on its way, forever. He had a small thought for it. Not for Aphrodite, that would most certainly never drive it after him, but for it in itself. As if it had a soul.

As if-- the fact that he cared about it mattered.

He shifted his position from feet first to head first. There was no wind to whip his face, not even air to slow him down. It very much felt like when he would drift in space without breathing, without thinking. Yet he could feel the call of the Abyss, the gravity slowly getting ahold of him, pulling him. What were threads at first became strings, then ropes, silky and smooth, pulling at him. He could still get away.

He knew that soon he wouldn't have that liberty. He told himself he didn't care. It wouldn't be much in the great scheme of things. He would be nothing but a spot wiped away from the universe. He'd leave the care of making a difference to others. He just hoped that they wouldn't dwell on his case for too long-- ah. Who was he kidding? They wouldn't.

He counted to three, then used raw power to push himself forward. Faster. Zipping past stars. Carried forward, into the void, until the void reached out and grabbed him.

This was the end, he realised.

And that realisation hit him stronger than two stars colliding head-on. That wasn't _just_ the end, that was his end. The terrifying, crushing end of him. It wasn't the unknown. It wasn't him escaping.

There would be no more Hermes.

This wasn't what he meant-- this wasn't what he wanted. He suddenly looked back and realised so many little things. What if he told Athena? What if he spoke to his father? What if-- He didn't--He didn't hate them. And he didn't hate himself. This simply wasn't' the solution, there were so many other things he could do rather than this.

He pulled back, but he couldn't escape. Not anymore, because it was too late to escape. Stars, maybe, could escape, because they spun on the edge, not him that was diving directly towards it. He screamed, his voice rippling across the strings that held reality together.

It rippled downwards. Not even that could escape the inexplicable pull. And the closer he got, the faster he dove towards it, plunged downwards to his doom.

He could have escaped before. He was trapped. He would never see his home again, or the Zephyr, or even his family that had made his life hell.

He wanted to see them again. Suddenly, he felt so alive, it felt intoxicating and terrifying. Life was scary.

Death was scarier. And death spread in front of him in all of its darkness now.

TIme itself stretched. The dancing of the stars above him came to a stop.

So wide. So imposing. The Styx in all of its indescribable splendour.

Even as he fell, he struggled to not be crushed by gravity.

Its crushing grip was pulling him apart.

His mother had become a star.

He would disappear.

He screamed.

So close.

Black.

Styx.

He plunged under the horizon.

The universe around him disappeared, engulfed in unending darkness. He tensed, expecting pain, thinking he was going to be ripped apart by the most unforgiving forces. He briefly wondered if he'd return to the womb of Chaos where all Gods had come from, then realised that he was still thinking. Through his panicked, fogged mind, thoughts were still coursing. Was he-- Was he alive?

How was he alive?

He realized that he was not being crushed. That he was not being pulled forward, that his godly senses were no longer being oppressed by the overwhelming gravity. He was just-- floating. In absolute silence and in absolute darkness.

He cried in surprise when a grip grabbed the back of his collar, pulling him back. And back, and back, until he broke into _somewhere else_ , out of-- the in-between? He was confused, barely understanding what he was feeling, but he knew that he had never been in such a place before. It felt different.

All that and more - that he didn't understand yet - registered in the very brief time he emerged and the one he was slammed on a hard surface. He sputtered and chocked, but that wasn't water in his lungs. What he coughed out was some of that darkness in which he had been floating. He spat it on the wooden surface on which he laid. He saw it gather in little bubbles and crawl up over the edge of a boat, returning to the perfectly still lake of darkness around them.

He turned to the light hooked at the front of the boat and the Stranger standing in front of it. Their contours basked in the weak glow of their strange lantern. They were clad in a dark cloak and with a wide-brimmed hat, with their back to Hermes, their features turned away from him. Without a word, they leaned forward to pick up their oar then stood at their impressive full height. They sighed. A puff of purple smoke floated upwards as it dissipated.


	3. One Eyed Gaze

Hermes stared at the stranger's wide back, flabbergasted. He remembered to breathe when he saw the purple smoke float away from him a second time. The air he drew in only confirmed what he already knew: that he was _elsewhere_. And by elsewhere, he meant probably not in the same space-time as his dear galaxy.

He was shaking.

He rubbed his hands in a futile attempt to soothe their trembling but it was no use. So many emotions had gone through him so fast and now his body was drained of all energy to resist the ones that were crashing over him. Never had he felt so relieved than what he felt at that very moment, yet he was still scared, scared of _himself_. He had not thought himself capable of killing and yet--

And yet, he had plunged towards the Styx. He was his own murderer.

He was alive now.

Was he?

His train of thoughts was broken by the sound of the Stranger's oar breaking the surface of the darkness. Strangely enough, despite being nothing like water, it made the same sound. He had powerful forearms arms and strong working hands, with large palms and long fingers. His skin was colourless, dark grey - if it was even that rather than a colour that Hermes couldn't see. All those tiny details crystalised themselves as important in Hermes' memory. He didn't know how he knew, but this Stranger was his saviour. Hermes would have been crushed inside the Styx. Stars themselves didn't survive. Yet, instead, he was there, curled up on the bottom of a long boat, breathing, shaking, scared out of his mind but otherwise fine.

He couldn't even bring himself to speak. The Stranger simply kept rowing, having not said a thing. He didn't give the impression that he was expecting Hermes to say something. It was as if he wasn't even there. Hermes was grateful for the privacy it offered him as he attempted to gather his thoughts once more.

He shifted, slowly, to a crouching position, then sat on his ankles with his hands on his knees. Deep breath. It came out broken, and his vision blurred.

The Stranger glanced over their shoulder, checking if he was all right. Though the veil of Hermes' tears, he only saw a strange purple glow in the shadow of his hat. Quickly, he blinked, clearing his vision, but the Stranger was already looking ahead once more.

He wasn't really about to break down in cries, he didn't want to - not now, not in this strange dark place with this person he didn't know. He breathed in a second time, deeply, seeking to master his emotions, and somehow he found the strength to do so. Good. All right. Progress.

He looked around, seeking clues as to where he could be. The boat on which they were - he had not seen a wooden boat in a long, long time - was very simple, dark and elegant. There was the lake of darkness, with ripples that shimmered like the iridescence of petrol. And then there was the light, hooked as the front of the boat, the only light in the complete darkness around them, that was so greedily absorbed by it that the shadows it painted were almost pitch black.

"Hello?" asked Hermes.

There was a pause in the Stranger's rowing and so Hermes became hopeful, but it was nothing but a pause. They did not answer, nor did they react beyond that.

"Hello," insisted Hermes, and this time he spread his voice beyond what was heard, through the very fabric of time. "Who are you?"

The Stranger stopped his rowing. The boat slowed to a stop, or rather the darkness they were navigating on gradually ceased its water-like sounds. And then it was just their breathing.

Hermes slowly stood up. The boat didn't move as he shifted his weight, which now that he had noticed it seemed extremely odd to him. Not that anything in this skewed place was meant to be normal. But at least he was standing to his full height, which was still significantly less than the Stranger.

"I'd like to know, please."

The stranger turned his head; not enough to show his face. They had glinting metal on their collar and a purple shine danced on it. Suddenly Hermes was scared again, scared of what might happen if the Stranger turned around completely. He didn't know them. He wasn't even sure that they might have a mind like his own.

Just as he was about to draw away from them, he felt a presence. Or rather, his perception of said presence became more acute, revealing itself to him. It was a mind that bordered his own. His breath shuddered. The sensation was familiar because such a thing had happened before with his family, the other gods, yet foreign to him. He peered into that other mind, the mind of the Stranger, and he didn't understand a single thing there.

He took a step back, away from him-- the Stranger was a he. That, in turn, also prompted the Stranger to turn around completely, facing Hermes.

Hermes gasped.

The Stranger's face was plunged in the shadows cast by the lamp but illuminated by the purple glow of his single eye, and that was enough to see its shape, the one of a skull. A grey-skinned skull, with no lips or nose, framed by locks of wavy hair that disappeared in his wide collar. When he would breathe, smoke curled around his teeth.

Was he the face of death?

He wasn't quite as scary as Hermes thought he would be. Staring into the emptiness of the Styx itself had been scarier, while this was recognizable as features. He couldn't tear his eyes away from them, slowly taking in the little details he half-guessed in the darkness. The more he looked, the more he was intrigued. A strange being, in a strange place, with a strange mind. And yet he was no longer scared.

"Do you understand me?" asked Hermes.

The Stranger huffed, smoke blowing from behind his molars. Again, Hermes felt his mind against his mind. And then the feeling of it distinctly shifted, just a little, before turning back to its original state. Almost like an answer.

"Is that a yes?"

This time, the Stranger nodded.

For some reason, the heart of Hermes started beating strongly in his chest. Never had he met a being such as this one. The mystery would have intrigued him in other circumstances as well but, right now, it was as if he was latching on the smallest of sensations just to feel himself live. And so it grew until it almost overwhelmed him, filling him up to his very extremities. He wanted to know everything about the Stranger, about this mind that brushed against his still.

He wanted to see his face in full.

Hermes took a step forward so that he would be closer. And then he brought the fingertips of his right hand together, pinching them tight, until they started to glow brightly. He rose them.

The Stranger quickly rose a hand in front of his face, shielding it, and it remained in the shadows - just his single eye to light it, and now it was so outshined by Hermes' light that it was all that was visible on the other's face. And then, with his other hand, he adjusted his hat so that the wide edge would shield him as he retreated into his collar. His face swiftly got out of Hermes' sight just as he was about to examine it.

Hermes shook his hand, quickly, putting the light of his fingers out.

"Oh-- Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Scare? No, that wasn't it. He was peering into the changes of the Stranger's mind and the feeling he was expressing was a lot more complex than surprise or fear. Or maybe it was fear, but a fear that ran deep, an old fear, something that had happened again and again.

"I just wanted to take a closer look but I guess that might have been a bit rude."

The Stranger slowly lifted his hat again. His expression never changed but the one he wore on his mind did. No wonder Hermes had trouble understanding him. Not only was it unknown to him but also extremely complex, ever-shifting yet beautiful. It was like the many ripples of a pond during a rainstorm. There was no doubt in Hermes' mind that he was smart and full of thoughts, he simply couldn't articulate them.

"What's your name?"

For a moment, Hermes doubted whether or not it was a good idea to ask that question. And then the Stranger took a step forward, in his direction, and reached for his hand without grabbing it, asking for it. Hermes gave it to him. The Stranger's palms were calloused from handling his oar yet they had the gentleness of a watchmaker. With one finger, the Stranger traced letters on the thin skin of Herme's palm.

C

H

A

R

O

N

"Charon?"

 _Yes_.

Hermes looked up at the other's face again. From this close, he could see the details he had only half-guessed before, even with no additional light. He really looked like a skull, but-- Or rather, because of that, Hermes thought that he was beautiful. Maybe it was the circumstances or the mess in his emotions that were playing tricks on him. He didn't know. That didn't change the facts that he wanted to reach up and touch him, find out if he really was as smooth to the touch. The way Hermes viewed him, he was like a work of art.

"Thank you," whispered Hermes.

And, just like that, when he thought he had chased it away, it all came rushing back, all the feelings, all the fear he had felt as he plunged towards the Styx.

He curled forward, like he had been hit in the stomach. Tears spilt out of his eyes before he even started sobbing. He didn't even know what he was feeling anymore, it was all raw sensation that crushed all of him. He pulled his mind away from Charon's, not wanting the other to see what himself didn't quite understand.

But he did let strong arms wrap around him. He did allow Charon to hold him against his chest, and he did bury his face in his dark clothes. Even then, in the darkness, as they stood alone, he felt the other's protective presence around him. It was respectful, he kept his distances, and yet-- Charon understood. Somehow. He didn't need to see into Hermes' mind to know what he was going through.

Hermes didn't cry for very long. Despite how powerful his feelings were, tears only spilt until he could handle them again. Not that he repressed them. On the contrary. He looked at them in the eyes and recognized them for what they were. He _saw_ them, for the first time in a very, very long time. And he understood how he had come to that point, all the way from mount Olympus to here, in the darkness. How he had deluded himself into thinking that ending it was the answer he wanted. He didn't know how to put it into words. He didn't need to.

He pulled away and Charon gently let him go.

"Thank you," said Hermes, again.

He looked up, at Charon's face again. He also timidly reached for his mind, afraid, for some reason, that Charon would draw away from him after having seen him like that. He found it to be placid and accepting, as it had been before.

"I don't want to go back."

Charon looked away, to an invisible point in the darkness. He raised his oar and showed it to Hermes. And then his mind shifted, and it spoke in a way that Hermes understood. He showed him how to wield his godly powers to break through the border - an actual _border_ \- that hung between their respective dimensions. How he could keep himself between them to escape the irresistible gravity of the Styx, that weakened said border enough to allow passage. And then how he could break through completely.

The realisation hit Hermes like an oar to the face: Charon was a God too. Their powers were different, their minds were too, but, at the base of it all, they shared that same fundamental connection to the strings that commanded the universe.

Charon looked back at Hermes. He must have thought that Hermes had not understood what he meant, for he repeated his instructions - with what sounded like... concern? Urgency? Hermes nodded and that seemed to pacify him.

"I don't want to go back."

Charon's mind shifted in a way that was similar to his 'yes', but not quite. And to make things even clearer, he also shook his head. But he wasn't exactly insisting so that he left would leave right away. Once again, he mentally choreographed the way to get through both worlds, but this time the starting point was from the other side.

"I can come back when I want?"

_Yes._

"Can I... Can I stay here a little longer?"

Although he looked around, as if he surprised that Hermes might want to stay in the dark on some small boat, Charon nodded. He even gestured for him to take a seat, which Hermes did.

Charon patted the robes that covered his thighs with his free hand, obviously at loss as to what to do.

"It's fine if you keep rowing or... doing whatever you were doing," said Hermes. "I'm just staying a moment more."

Charon nodded. He didn't realize it but, when he turned around to face the light once more, it briefly illuminated his face, showing all of it to Hermes.

And it was indeed just as beautiful as Hermes had thought it would be.

* * *

Hermes had said goodbye, then Hermes had left. And now Charon couldn't stop thinking about him. There had not spoken much and yet he knew that the other had been watching him. For what? Charon was not used to being watched. That was the whole point of hiding out here.

He was a little unsettled. And now he couldn't stop thinking of the little bird he had saved. It wasn't in his habits to step in and try to help those that had wandered to close to the Styx, yet this one time... He would have done it even without Hermes screaming in terror. He would have done it just because he was another God and that Charon knew that this wasn't the way.

Even if he had never attempted anything, he knew the sort of pain that Hermes was carrying.

Even if... well, he wasn't about to say that he shouldn't feel depressed because he was pretty, but Hermes was pretty. Lithe, golden-skinned, he was just as handsome as the other Olympians. When Charon thought about him, he thought about that too, the warmth of his hand in his as he had spelt his name for him. Even as he was gone, that smell of his still hung in the air, reminding Charon of the one that had stood there, so close to him.

And that had looked at his face! His strange, cursed face. Charon had made his peace with it, or at least he thought he had, but then someone with eyes came along and he was reminded of its existence all over again. He had tried to hide it at first by having his back at Hermes. It was ridiculous to think that, in a moment so important, so crucial for the other, the first thought he would have would be to selfishly protect himself. At least he had gradually forgotten about it. Or, rather than having forgotten, he had stopped fearing rejection from the other, even as Hermes had watched him so intensely.

What had he seen when he looked at Charon?

Charon hoped he would be back. And, this time, that he wouldn't need Charon to open an emergency opening between his world and the Underworld. Charon didn't really believe that he would be coming back. For what? To talk to him? Charon couldn't speak. And while he had refrained from his habitual groans and sighs, he knew that he wasn't the best conversationalist, period. That he wasn't the best at many things.

But he still hoped. It would be nice to see him again, just to make sure that he was doing okay.

The night around him stirred. Not that it was something he could spot with his eye, he just _knew_ that it did. He turned around and there materialised Nyx.

She was a towering figure, even for someone as tall as Charon. Her coat, her gown, even her hair, all of it seemed to escape the gravity that Charon tried to maintain around the place. She was suspended in space next to the boat, looking down at him.

"Charon, my child," she said. "I see that you have done well."

_You've been listening to us?_

"I've done more than just listened. I've watched you, and Hermes, during your time together. I must say that I am proud of you."

_Me?_

"Yes. You have done the right thing by helping Hermes, even if it goes against the office lord Hades has appointed you to do. I've felt his intrusion in the Underworld, thought that it was an accident, and came as soon as I could to handle the situation, but when I saw that you already were with him I held back."

_I haven't done all that much._

"Do not rob yourself from the credit you deserve, my child." A long, pale hand reached for his cheek to stroke it. She was the only one that dared touch him, always had been. "I have seen the way you did it and I can tell you that you have done well. If, at any point, I thought that you were about to make a mistake, I would have revealed myself. I have not until now."

_I didn't sense you at all._

"And so has he. His reactions to you were genuine, and he has accepted you with no question. This son of Zeus might be more interesting than I thought he might be."

_You're talking about how he passed the border?_

"That too. I did not think that I would meet a surface God that learned to switch sides with such ease. I was expecting him to need some help and was ready to offer my assistance - or let you offer yours. He still has a lot to learn but, perhaps..."

_Who knows what the future holds. Maybe he won't ever come back._

"You are wise, my child, when you say that the worrying about the future is not ours to make, but it would be foolish to assume that he wouldn't come back. Do not let your hurts blind you to the possibilities that have opened for yourself. Hermes will seek you out. Whether or not you chose to reveal yourself to him once more is up to you."

_If he needs to see me again... even if I can't fathom why someone would need to see me, I'll be there._

She sighed and shook her head. He didn't really get what he had said that wasn't true. It was how things had always been for him, at least. He wondered if Nyx, in all he wisdom and her knowledge of the underside of the world, could understand what sort of life he lived. What it was, really, to carry his own difference so openly on his face, to be the one mistake in a choir of perfections. Why he had decided to come and live out here, in the outskirts of the Underworld. He loved her, he really did, but they were so different.

"Sometimes I forget that you are my last born," said Nyx, "and that you still have much to learn. He will be back. You should make sure that you are the best host that one can be. Surely you can do that?"

_That seems... possible. I'll do my best, mother._

"I know you will, my child."


	4. Feast of the Gods

He almost landed the Zephyr on his bad out of habit, then remembered that he had to give it back and change at the last moment. He had had plenty of time to think on his way back. Seeing what he had done with it, it was probably best to make sure that he didn't climb in another ship for a while. In fact, he couldn't wait to be out of this one: he literally jumped out.

It was the middle of the afternoon on Olympus, or at least on the side of Olympus where the Hall of the Gods resided. He looked around him in awe. He could have never seen this place again, he thought, yet here he was. It imbued the sight of the tall arcades and the delicate architecture with a wonder that he had not felt since he had laid his eyes on them for the first time as a child.

Glaukopis, perched up high on a marble column, cried out to him as a hello. She fluffed up, gave her chest a quick inspection, then flew over. Her mistress was not too far behind her.

"Hermes!" cried Athena, that had just appeared at the spaceport's entrance. "Where were you?"

"I'm back," said Hermes. He rose his hand to allow Glaukopis to land on his closed fist. "Sorry I'm late. I thought I'd only--"

"You missed breakfast _and_ lunch," she said. "How can you just waltz back in here like that? Where were you?"

"I was just-- Gone for a walk! It's not like Aphrodite needed it right this day."

"It's not about Aphrodite needing anything!" She realised she had just screamed and stopped herself before she could go on, just to take a deep breath. "It's not about Aphrodite, Hermes. I keep telling you yet you always draw away. You're never around."

"Hephaestus is never around too."

"You're not him, Hermes."

"Ah, yes, true, I'm not. I'm not ugly like he is so you would rather look at my face than his, right?"

"That's not what it is."

"Yeah, you're just glad he slaves away in his forge day and night for you guys in the hope of getting even a shred of recognition--"

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she cried. "You know nothing of him--"

"I don't need to--"

"And you go around throwing accusations like that--"

"I hear you talk about him enough to know what you guys think of him--"

"Hermes, let me speak--"

"I was just lucky and he wasn't, that's what it is!"

"Hermes!"

He suddenly realised that he didn't want to talk to her. Glankopis had been startled away when they started to scream, so he was free to move right past Athena. She seemed like he was about to stop him but he was faster - he had always been fast. He was at the door in the blink of an eye. He didn't stop to look back at her.

"Hermes!" she cried a second time. "I'm not done talking to you!"

She was Zeus' favourite anyway. She didn't understand a thing.

He escaped to the gardens. They were gigantic and constantly tended to by a literal army of nymphs, aided by their magic. With their lush vegetations and their many private places, they were the perfect place to hide for someone small and fast like Hermes. Athena knew it too, and so she didn't even bother coming after him.

He was a little shocked that he had dared to talk to her like that. Because he knew that, ultimately, she was just worried about him, that she was only telling him what she did because she thought that this was what was best for him, he had never really spoken back to her. He had always gritted his teeth, always slinked away from answered her directly. But what she said hurt, damnit. He was no child that needed to be looked after and, if he told her what really bothered him, her answer would be a nicer version of "suck it up". He knew because he had tried before, many times, thinking that she would listen. Wisdom didn't necessarily mean empathy.

He was tired of her. He needed space.

He wandered across the gardens, taking in the sights. He was glad, despite it all, that he was still allowed to take in the gorgeous sights. There was a little stream that slithered through the flower beds, occasionally forming carp-filled ponds on the way. He followed it quietly, taking in the sights.

He heard the voices before he saw Ares and Aphrodite talking together. They were consuming some sort of snack served to them on a low table. Even if both of them had a separate couch to lay on, their faces were close enough for them to kiss with ease if they so chose. Their affair was really more of an open secret ever since Aphrodite's husband, Hephaestus, had tried to humiliate them publicly for indulging in it.

He was just grateful that he had not stumbled across them fucking like rabbits this time.

"Hey," he said, stepping in their field of vision.

Ares, that seemed to had been aware of Hermes' presence - which wasn't a surprise, his senses were sharp and always on the lookout - turned to him with a frown on his face. Aphrodite looked a little more surprised.

"Is something the matter, sweetie?" she said.

"I just wanted to give you this," said Hermes. "Well, I mean, give it _back_. After I borrowed it."

He offered her the card that allowed him to open the Zephir. She stared at it for a second but did not attempt to take it.

"What is this?" she asked. "Can't say I remember lending this to you."

"It's the key to your ship."

She stared at him blankly.

"The one Hephasteus made you?"

"Oh!" She laughed, suddenly remembering. "That old thing. You've got your own ride now?"

"No-- No, but I figured that I wouldn't take yours. I'll start looking for one for myself."

She took it back. "I don't even remember giving that card to you," she said. "That's strange."

It wasn't, because Hermes had snatched it out of her room, casually, one day that she wasn't there. She had never actually lended it him, not officially at least. He just couldn't bear leaving such a gem untouched when it was obvious that it was going to remain so.

"Anyway, it's not like I'm going to use it," she added. "My husband made me a racing ship. Just as quick as he is in bed, might I add."

It was supposed to be a joke. Ares laughed. Hermes didn't, he didn't even have the will to muster up a smile.

"I'll be going," he said. "Thanks again for lending it."

"Why do you give it back now?" she asked. "I hope it's not broken."

"No no, it's in perfect shape."

"Hmmmkay. Take care lil'champ."

She was already absorbed in her snack and Ares by the time Hermes walked away. Hermes looked at the card that he was leaving her one last time, already discarded on the table in front of her, one last time.

He really didn't want to spend his dinner with the other gods. That much was obvious. But he had skipped quite a few himself, and after all that he felt hungry - yes, hungry. It felt liberating to feel like he wanted something, anything, even if it was just a basket of olives with no seasoning

And it felt so nice to walk outside. It was such a silly, simple thing to do. The sun on his skin felt nice. The birds were singing. The flowers smelled almost too strong, but it was a good kind of strong.

He really, really didn't want to have dinner with his family.

He sat down in the grass, under a tree, with his head in the shade and his legs in the sun. And the more he sat there, the more he struggled against the dark mood that kept creeping on him. Would Hera be there? Would his father be there as well? Would the others talk about their latest accomplishments? While he sat there, in silence, unnoticed, unimportant, unwanted?

Nothing had changed.

And what was he going to do about it? He was trapped with them now. Maybe he really should suck it up like Athena wanted him to. Grit his teeth and bear it. Him, the useless God among the others. What didn't kill you only made you stronger, right?

Well, there was another place where he could go, now.

Now that he was alone as if he was about to peer into a secret box that should be kept from others at all cost, he turned his thoughts back to Charon. He had really sat on his boat, listening to him work, watching his mind and how it moved. He had felt peace near him. No numbness, no tempest of feelings in his chest: true quietness, and the simple feeling of his breathing. Now, as he sat under a tree half a galaxy away, he drew that feeling from his memory and enjoyed it.

He would go back soon.

* * *

"Hey, Hermes, where you've been? It's been such a long time since we last saw you, my man, I was getting worried you know."

Hermes gave Dionisos a tight smile. He had been eating quietly in the dining Hall of the Gods. Having his brother drop by to talk to him wasn't the worse thing that could happen, but he would have given a lot to be anywhere else right now. He didn't quite know where - elsewhere. Maybe back among the stars.

"Did you have anything to drink--" Dionisos leaned in to check the inside of Hermes' cup. "What's that in there? How much water did you put in your wine? That just won't do, you know, we're celebrating your return you got to have something stronger. Here, let me pour something for you - ah well, it wasn't empty but at least those two wines mix well together."

"Thanks."

"No problem bro."

Dionisos sat next to Hermes on the bench he had elected as his hiding place during dinner. Not that it was very discreet, but at least it was away from the main table, where Zeus was having an intense debate with Athena about who-knew-what. Most of the other Gods were listening, sometimes participating - while Hera was trying the best to pull the conversation towards her but she didn't have anything interesting to say. Hephaestus was nowhere to be seen so Ares and Aphrodite were still sitting next to one another.

"So, what you've been up to?" asked Dionisos. "Finally found some way to make yourself useful?"

"Oh, you know, I've been doing this and that," lied Hermes.

"Helping someone? I can tell you've been using your powers man. Nothing like a good workout."

He probably detected how Hermes had passed that border, the way Charon had shown him. He supposed such a thing left traces in his aura and the other Gods, that knew him better than anyone else, would be the first to be able to tell.

"Yeah."

"So, tell me about it!" Dionisos poured himself another glass.

Hermes was put on the spot. For a second, he wondered if his bother was doing it on purpose just to mess with him. He was constantly drunk, that just his nature at this point, but even under the vapes of alcohol he had a true-striking lucidity to him.

Or maybe he was just trying to make small talk. After all, they really had not seen each other in a while. Longer than what two people living in the same house - albeit an immense house - should. Maybe he was just trying to cheer up Hermes.

"Oh, well it's a whole story," said Hermes. "As you said, flexing those godly muscles."

"Look man, I'm so happy for you that you're finally making yourself useful. It was about time! At your age, all the other Gods had some sort of exploit to their name, and they had found their function - hope you find that too soon, you know. Nothing better than practice to get things rolling."

Dionisos obviously didn't intend it, but those words cut deep. Hermes knew all that, he knew all of that all too well. He wanted that slate to be set back to be zero. To have more time to think things through... to find himself.

That was a terrifying perspective.

"I'll tell you all about it," said Hermes. "But I just remembered that there's something I got to do really quick. I'll be back right away and tell you all about it afterwards, all right?"

"Sure, sure." Dionisos waved his full cup at him. "You go do your thing, okay? I'll wait right here for you."

Hermes quickly walked away.

He had barely touched his food. He had been so hungry before dinner, yet he was suddenly discovering that he didn't feel like eating at all. He would be fine. He was a God! He had done such things before as skip an entire day of eating, he could do it again.

He usually would have gone to the spaceport, taken Zephyr and would have flown away. He didn't have that liberty anymore. He could try leaving the atmosphere of the planet through his own means, in other words by using his powers to fly upwards, but that would get him noticed by the others for sure. Yet he was too agitated to simply go back and hide in his room, it was too close to _them_ , all of them.

He was still stuck in the same situation as before. Nothing had changed. Yet instead of fog and numbness, he was burning up like a flare, emotions swelling inside with such strength that he wondered if there was a limit to how much he could take before he would spontaneously combust, leaving behind an unfeeling husk. He couldn't even think straight.

"Hermes!" called a voice.

He froze. He had been so taken by what was happening to him that he didn't recognize the voice until he turned around: it was Demeter. She stood there, under an archway, looking severe in her conservative clothes. She seemed angry at him.

"Come here," she said.

He moved towards her apprehensively but didn't run away. He didn't know what he had done to have her look like that but-- it might be strange to think that, but he only felt relief as he approacher her. Anything but being left alone with his own torments was good in his book.

"Walk with me," she said.

He did so. She moved to the gardens, slowly, in silence. Hermes had never been an imposing figure, especially next to her. She stood proudly, often apart from the other Gods, knowing that her powers were both mighty and valuable to all the others. She seldom took an interest in Hermes and he had always been content to just watch her from afar. Up to now.

"You've done something very stupid," she eventually said.

Hermes' heart stopped.


	5. The Invisible

He had told no one. No one but Charon knew-- was supposed to know. His thoughts froze, he waited for her to say something, anything he could use to escape having to answer that, but she kept quiet, walking along the path in the middle of the gardens. The ground lights, that illuminated her from under, gave her an even more severe look that her usual frown.

He couldn't remain silent for much longer.

"I gave the Zephir back," said Hermes. "It won't happen again."

"Don't lie to me, Hermes," said Demeter.

"I..."

She stopped in front of a pond, looking down at the golden fishes that lazily swam at her feet. But she was waiting again, for Hermes' answer. Hermes just stood at her side.

"What are you hoping to achieve?" she asked. "You might dupe the other Gods but I've lived for too long for that to happen with me. Or are you going to be like your father and keep running away when it is time to answer for your actions?"

"I-- No."

"Good." She turned to him. "That answer I can accept. So, tell me, from the beginning, what you did."

"I... jumped into the Styx."

She didn't answer right away. Something akin to the slightest trace of surprise passed on her face.

"You know that not even a God can survive that?"

Hermes nodded.

"Hmm. This is worse than I thought. And then what?"

"I survived."

"That much is obvious. I want to know what you were doing in the Underworld."

"The Underworld?" repeated Hermes, flabbergasted.

He knew what it was. He had _heard_ of it before, although he had never been there, and he had never been very interested in. At most, he knew that it was his uncle, Hades, that ruled it. He really should have guessed earlier that this was where he had landed, yet it still came as a surprise to him.

"Don't look at me like that, I can smell it on you," she said. "I wish I didn't know this horrible smell so well but I do."

"That was the Underworld?"

"You didn't know?"

"I didn't think it would be so... dark," said Hermes. "I mean, I don't know what it would be like but... I guess everything happened so fast."

"Of course it would be dark," said Demeter. "That's where that woman, Nyx, lives. She's one of the most powerful things down there that has yet to be vanquished. I take that she is the one that opened the Underworld before you got yourself killed."

Something was disarming about the directness with which Demeter spoke. She truly was unafraid. Hermes was almost shocked to hear her mention his potential death so casually. Yet, it made sense for her to act that way. It had not happened. Why would she be scared to talk about something that had not happened?

"Well, actually, I haven't met her," said Hermes. "It was someone else. He said his name was Charon?"

"Charon? Never heard such a name in my life. Did he say something else about himself?"

"Well-- No. He didn't speak at all, actually. He doesn't seem able."

"Ah! I know who this is. It's the last child that was born to Nyx, the one that looks like a monster, correct?"

"He's not a monster."

"I said he looked like one - you are old enough to know the difference, boy. From what my daughter tells me, he's nice enough, which is more than what can be said about most of the louts around Olympus. But again, my daughter is easily swayed."

"I don't think he looked like a monster either."

She rose her brows. "Good for you, then."

"Do others think that he does?"

"Should that concern you?" she asked right back. "Oh, wait, of course it does. You do the same to Hephaestus."

Hermes opened his mouth to protest, but he could feel himself blush at just as he was about to protest. Because it was true. Not that long ago, he had thought about him and he had felt nothing but contempt. He might be bad but at least he didn't have it as bad as him-- In the mouth of Demeter, the accusation hit him hard because it was true.

"Hmm. I might have been a little frank with you this once," she said. "The fact of the matter is, you've found yourself in the Underworld after you threw yourself in the Styx. I hope that this will not happen again - throwing yourself in the Styx, that is. And I'm quite serious about that."

"It... it won't."

"You say that now," said she said, "and yet I can see in your eyes that you aren't any better. Come with me."

She turned around abruptly and Hermes had to follow, confused as to where they were going.

* * *

Hermes looked at the bowl of potage in front of him, then at Demeter. She didn't have anything in front of him.

"Well then, eat up. And don't you tell me that you don't want it. No one refused a meal from the best cook on Olympus."

Hermes looked back down at his portion of food in front of him. This was so much. This was the most food he had had on his plate since... a long time. He believed her when she said that she was the best cook on Olympus: it smelled delicious.

"I'm not sure if I can finish all of that."

"You still need to eat," she told him. "You've become skinny, boy. The other might not notice those details and I'd be surprised if they did but you can't hide that from me. I'll wrap up what you can't finish for later and you'll be able to take it as you leave."

Hermes glanced at the second bowl of food that was placed on her kitchen counter. She guessed his question.

"That's for Hephaestus. He too has the disastrous habit of forgetting to eat when he's absorbed in a project. You'll be bringing it to him afterwards, like that he can also tell you what he wanted to tell you."

"He wanted to see me?"

"Eat," she said, pointing a finger at his plate.

There was no disobeying such an order. Hermes grabbed a piece of bread and dipped in the sauce, before getting to work. It was just as good at it had smelled, which meant that it was absolutely delicious.

"You might be a God but you also need to take care of yourself," she said. "Focus on the simple things. For example, make sure you got to bed early tonight. You look terrible."

Hermes nodded.

She looked at him for a few moments longer, then sighed. She propped her head on a hand, observing Hermes as he ate. She seemed... less severe than usual. Hermes didn't believe that he had ever seen her smile but this was the softest he had seen her, maybe ever.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that she was the mother of Persephone. Luminous and bright Persephone, that seemed always so careless, running in the fields with her feet bare. As if she was invincible. As if nothing could kill her.

She had been his friend and Hermes missed her. He wondered if Demeter did as well.

"At first, I thought you had run off to try and see my daughter," she said. "Without announcing yourself, not even with permission. Hades is a lot more protective of his domain than, say, Poseidon. I don't blame him for it when you see who might try to invade it. If you would have been caught, that might have ended poorly for you. I knew you weren't doing well but I had no idea that it was bad enough for you to try and end your life."

"I didn't tell anyone."

"And how did that go for you? Bottling up your troubles only leads to doubling them. You're too young to die, Hermes. I hope you know that."

"I won't do it again."

"I don't care about your promise. Listen to me. I know you struggle to find your place. It's not hard to guess. All I need to do is to listen to the other's pointless rabble for me to know that this is what they tell you all day, among other things. And then they are surprised when you stop talking to them! But really, you haven't found yourself."

"I know but... what if I never do?"

"It's not by listening to your family that you'll find out," she said. "Don't get me wrong, you're just as bad as the rest of them but, to your credit, up to this point you were only following their example. You should find out if you're really a terrible person before deciding whether or not you deserve to die."

"Erm... thanks?"

"You know I'm right. You feel it inside."

"I don't know if I do."

She didn't contradict him.

He knew that there was more to his state than what she had said. He also knew that she was doing her best to help him in her own convoluted way. But he didn't want to speak about that anymore. He didn't even want to talk to her about what was on his mind, even if the food was delicious. And, finally, he needed a breather, a break from the constant worry that grated his mind down to its bones.

He changed the subject.

"What's the Underworld for?" he asked.

"No one told you?"

"My father might have."

Hermes discovered that she was fully capable of smiling, even if it was more of a disdainful smirk. He would take that over a frown.

"That's what I mean when I say that you follow their example: your ignorances is telling. But if you want to know, I suppose that I can tell you." She paused. "The Underworld is the foundation upon the universe is built."

"It is?"

"What else? My brothers divided the three parts of this dimension between themselves, of course. Zeus rules space, the domain of matter, Poseidon rules hyperspace as the mortals call it, and Hades the Underworld. But really, those three domains are not equal. The Underworld came first and, from it, most of the rest came about. Even now, without it, matter, dimensions and time would implode, even if most of its energy has been drained out of it. That is, simply put, the Underworld."

"Oh. You know a lot about it."

"Of course I do, boy," she huffed. "That's where I draw my power from. Without the Underworld, it is impossible to bring forth life and harvest. You couldn't have anyone better suited to explain it to you than I. Although that cannot possibly keep going forever. Without anything to replenish it, this universe will run out of fuel eventually."

"Really?"

"That's the most elementary of logic. But don't you worry, you'll have all the time in the world to understand who you are before we all die from bitter cold and hunger."

"Doesn't sound very appealing. Something should be done about that."

"Don't concern yourself with problems that can't be solved and eat your vegetables."

He looked down at his plate. It was still half-full.

"I can't take another bite."

"Then you can actually make yourself useful. Let me wrap this up for you. You'll eat the rest when you'll be hungry again. And if you throw it again to stave yourself, I'll know."

* * *

Hermes, a new messenger bag hanging from his shoulder - full of food that Demeter had kept adding to it as she went through her kitchen, muttering to herself menacingly - was carefully going down the steps leading to Hephaestus's workshop. He had just stepped out of a long ride down the elevator, into the very depth of the earth, yet the bowl of potage in his hand had not cooled one bit. Not that it burned him. He supposed that Demeter's power as a cook kept it at the optimal eating temperature as well.

He came upon a large celestial bronze door, a marvel of craftmanship that was meant to flaunt the remarkable talent of a certain artisan - celestial bronze being an alloy that was notoriously difficult to create, let alone shape. Hermes had already come here, had already seen those doors. Yet this time he paused to really observe them, realizing that he had taken the complexity of their motif for granted. They were beautiful.

He pushed the doors with his back and entered the Forge of the Gods.

The first thing that imprinted on him was how large the place was, filled with machines, metallic reflections and the hot breath of the burning forge below. Robotic arms moved around him, carrying bits and pieces of machines with obscure purposes.

"Welcome," said a female voice from all around him - an artificial intelligence that served him. "Hephaestus has been expecting you. Please make yourself comfortable. He will be with you in a moment."

"Coming--" said a voice from another room, one from which the roar of an immense fire could be heard.

Hephaestus stepped out moments later, clad in his usual metal working exoskeleton. It attaches popped open and he stepped out of it with ease, removing the metal mask that had been protecting his face. He grappled for his glasses, that were immediately brought to him by one of the mechanical arms around them.

He blinked several times, staring at Hermes, as if trying to gather his thoughts. He scrunched his porcine nose as he focused, and then it struck him.

"Hermes," he said. "A, yes, looks like I forgot dinner again," he said.

He reached for the bowl, and Hermes happily handed it over. Their hands brushed. One of them was warm, god-like; the other was cold because it was a prosthesis, replacing the limb he had lost once. He brought the food to his face to smell it.

Hermes was ashamed to realise that he really looked like a pig when he did so.

"Demeter's cooking is really the best of all Olympus," he declared. One of the robotic arms carried it away, for later, presumably.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, yes-- Absolutely." He paused, then stroked his chin as he observed Hermes. There were a few hairs there, but he had never been blessed with a full beard for as long as Hermes could remember. "I envisioned you with a thing."

"A thing?"

"Hmm. Follow."

He hobbled to yet another room Hermes on his heels. This one was well lit and had a few screens on which unfinished designs for some projects appeared. Hephaestus climbed a few steps until he overlooked both his main design table and the room itself.

"I've heard you were moving around quite a bit, eh?" he said. "In the ship I made for my wife?"

"Oh." Hermes blushed, ashamed. "Yes. I did."

"You shouldn't do that, lad." He leaned down and started tapping on the tactile screen in front of him, preparing who-knew-what.

"I'm sorry. I gave back to her now, it won't happen again."

"Eh?" He looked back at Hermes, adjusted his glasses. "No no, that's not a problem. It's her ship now, she can lend it or crash it for all I care. No no, I meant, I didn't envision _you_ with it. No ship for you. More of a... Ack. You don't have a head for a ship."

Hermes rose his brows. Not to brag but he was an excellent pilot. If anyone should have a ship, it should be him. Or at least that's what he had thought as he had swiped Aphrodite's ship card.

"It's running," he muttered, his head back in his screen. "Get undressed, will you lad?"

"Undressed?"

"Yes. And step on the thing over there."

He pointed to a machine that, upon closer inspection, seemed to be some sort of full-body scanner. The cabin where he was supposed to stand had an opaque glass he could hide behind. He stepped in it and took out his chiton.

"Don't move!" cried Hephaestus.

Hermes even stopped breathing until he was told he could come out. He did so, dressed again.

"Now that's a 3D model a lot of sculptors would be desperate for," said Hephaestus.

"Erm-- Thank you?"

"Hmm. That's all I need."

"If I may... what do you need it for?"

"Hmm?" Hephaestus stared at him as if he had been drawn out of deep thoughts. "Why, I'm going to make you fly too."

"Oh!" Hermes suddenly hoped. "Is it a ship?"

"Better: shoes."

"Oh."

"Takes a lot less space than a ship."

"Right."

"You'll see. They will change your entire life."

"I believe you." Hermes forced a smile. He was supposed to be happy. If Hephaestus was going to make him some shoes, they were going to be the best shoes in the entire universe, that was for certain.

"You're not convinced?" asked Hephaestus.

"Convinced of what?"

"That you'll fly with the shoes?"

"Flying shoes?"

"Yes, yes!" He seemed a little annoyed. "I told you, I'm making you some flying shows. Do you want some?"

"What-- Of course I do! I'd love--"

"All right! Hmm-- Now shoo, let me work. Come back later."

"Thank you very much," said Hermes.

"Just go!" he grumbled. "You'll thank me when they are done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neither Hephaestus nor Demeter is really gifted with kind words. They care though, in their own ways. All the Gods do.


	6. Shadow in Paradise

Charon's job was strange. Explaining it was a hassle for him - not that many, except his mother that already knew about it, wanted to drop by to take the time to understand him. The short of it was that he needed to make sure that the gates between the universe - the surface, as they called it in the chthonic realms - and the Underworld remained open and working. He worked by bursts, travelling on his boat, and had quite a bit of time for himself when nothing of importance was crumbling.

He thought of Hermes.

Of course he did. Hermes was the most remarkable thing that had stumbled into the Underworld ever since Charon had moved from the House of Hades to its border, in more ways than one. The last olympian God to cross the border had been Hades, before Charon's birth, and since then he had bound himself to the place so tightly that he had become a chthonic God like the others. But Hermes-- Hermes had stumbled in, smelling like untouched stars, dreams and wonders, and that scent had clung to Charon's boat long after he had disappeared back in his world.

It was funny, really, how out of place he had looked yet how Charon simply couldn't stop thinking about him. Not that it was surprising, really. Not that he minded. He wondered and pondered about the others fate. If he was feeling better now. If he was still troubled. It was the last thing that worried him most: he didn't know what Hermes was thinking now that he was gone.

Was he even all right?

Charon knew where the Olympus was, of course, instinctually. This was the centre of the Gods' world, he had been taught that since the moment he was born under the rule of Hades. There was a rarely-used gate in the House itself, that Hades had installed for the purpose of going back and forth between his brother's domain and his. It was not recommended for Charon to try and spend too much time on the surface but if he just dropped by for a quick moment... He had to make sure that Hermes was doing all right.

It took him less time to come to that decision than it took him to gather up the courage to return to the House of Hades, where all the others were. Which was ridiculous but true. Not that Charon wasn't welcome there. The reality was a little more complicated than that.

He plunged into the darkness below his boat. No one knew the twists and the meaders of the Underworld like he did, and so he emerged with no difficulty in the arriving pool of the House of Hades, emerging from its dark waters like a shadow given matter. He pulled his hat a little lower to that it would cover his face a little more and strolled forward.

The hallways of the House of Hades were sombre, to say the least, as it pleased the lord of the place. They seemed to be made out of dark stone, with orbs of light hanging from the ceiling that looked like small, captured suns. It had been a while since Charon had last come, yet nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed.

He moved through the empty hallways, his light steps echoing ahead of him. He almost expected to see someone there, but there was no one. So he stopped and really looked around him, yet he didn't see what was really around him.

He remembered Alecto's words, telling him what everyone thought when they looked at him but never said. He remembered the looks. The looks were the worse. They always had that damn _weight_ to them as they went over his face, the weight of remarks that remained untold. What had he done to them? Nothing.

Yet they still looked at him that way.

Surely others looked worse than he did, right? In all of the great fresco that was the creation of the universe, there had been many, many monsters that were uglier than he was, and so many darker hearts. They all knew that. They had their own prejudices towards the others. So why couldn't they simply forget that he looked different?

Was it because he couldn't speak? Of all the inhabitants of the Underworld, the only one that understood him and his way of communicating was Nyx, and maybe the brothers that were closest to him, although not completely. How easy it was to project what one wanted when the one in front had no way of showing their own mind to them.

As he gazed at the empty hallways, at the many, many memories trapped within them, he remembered why he had decided to leave this place. Yes, he didn't have much now, save for a boat and his own mind. Yet he was happier now than what he had been here, in times immemorial. That was all that mattered. Really, it was.

Maybe that's why he wanted to check on Hermes again. Never had someone opened their heart so freely in front of him. Even with Nyx watching from far, Charon felt as if he had been offered something special. Not that he should feel glad for it but-- he did. Did that make him a bad person or just selfish?

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to this question. It might make him want to go back, dropping the whole operation when he had come this far.

Charon knew the Underworld better than anyone save Nyx. Or rather, because of the way he communicated, Nyx had been more inclined to show it to him from the inside. That is how he knew the existence of a passage, near Hades' chambers, that lead to Olympus. With how his time on the surface was limited, that was his best bet if he wanted to meet Hermes.

He didn't realise how comfortable he had become in the idea that there was no one home until he almost crossed through the gardens while there was someone there; luckily, he hid in the shadows of the massive gates fast enough that none of the two others spotted him.

The gardens looked strange, or at least would look so from the perspective of Persephone: they were made of stone, like the rest of the palace, and lit with the same white, cold orbs as well. The ground was barren, voided of all life, but there were beautiful abstract statues. Not that she seemed particularly excited when she would look at them.

Hades was also looking at them from time to time, although sometimes he would glance at Persephone like no one would catch him doing so.

"I'm not saying it isn't beautiful," she said, seemingly out of the blue - Charon must have approached them during a lull in their conversation. "I think... I can see what you see in it, my lord. Sometimes. But I do miss the surface. The colours."

"I understand."

"Do you really?"

Silence.

"Maybe I don't," said Hades. "I spent so little time out there before my brother decided that this place was the one I was meant to rule. 'The eldest realm for the eldest.' And I had to agree with the majority since Poseidon was happy with his own choice."

"You would have picked another?"

Silence again. She turned her gaze to him, waiting patiently.

"I don't think I would have," said Hades. "But there is a difference between taking your share as the eldest and being told what part is left for you. And I wouldn't have accepted if I had known the truth about the Underworld."

Persephone didn't answer. She simply stared at him, quietly, giving him the space he needed to wrestle the words he needed to say out of his stubborn pride.

"I'm sorry I cannot offer you more than this crumbling world," he said, so quiet Charon almost couldn't hear him. "By bonding yourself to me, you've also bonded yourself to your own end. I should have... I shouldn't have let you come here with me."

Charon had heard enough, he decided. He didn't mean to spy on them. He could go around the gardens, that was fine, and leave them to their moment. Even if wondered, as he moved away, how much of Hades could Persephone change. Probably not much but-- that didn't mean that she couldn't draw out the best parts of him.

They had his sympathy, for what it was worth.

Hades had some power over the Underworld and the shape it took. And that power was mostly political because, ultimately, it was Nyx that held it together.

"Out of all my children, you are the one with the best grasp over this world," she had once told Charon. "There's so much of my own parent in you, my child, more than what you will ever realize."

Not that he could shape it as she did, even if he knew he had that potential in him. But it explained how he was capable of activating a gate designed for Hades only but that was made by Nyx.

Even so, the passage was tricky to navigate; nothing comparable to the one provided by the presence of a black hole. Charon managed well enough, but not without sacrificing discretion - for those that could perceive the movements between dimensions, of course, and that paid any attention to them.

He emerged in an inner courtyard. Immediately, the fullness of this world caught him at the throat. It was so warm, luminous, full of scents and colours. Charon staggered out of the sunlight, to the shade, in desperate need for some cool and dark. There was a difference, and a big one, between being told that the surface would wreck him and feeling it in his very bones. He pushed down his hat and pulled up his collar, protecting himself from both sight and light.

"Don't move," said a voice.

He looked at where it came from. There was a Goddess on the roof, a Goddess with a bow and an arrow aimed in his direction. Her eyes, hidden in the shadow of her animal skin hook, gleaned with murderous intent.

"So, you escaped Tartarus," she said. "Too bad you landed in the hunter's yard."

Was she really going to shoot him? Charon rose his hands, showing that he carried no weapon. He wanted to tell her that he was no threat but-- well, that was a little hard. He never met her. Did she think that he was one of the God's old enemies, one among those that had been imprisoned in the underworld?

Charon heard a quick step run up the hallway to the courtyard and turned his head just in time to see Hermes emerge. Their eyes met and the Olympian seemed quite surprised to see him. And then his attention turned round, to the Goddess on the roof.

"No-- Artemis, he's a friend!" he cried, throwing himself in the way of the arrow.

"A friend of yours?" She rose her brows and her bow. "Were you expecting him?"

"Well, no-- But I promise he's nice."

"How did you come here so quickly, then?" said Artemis.

"I just sensed it-- Something..."

Hermes didn't continue, at loss for words. Artemis' gaze travelled between him and Charon a few times before she gave up and tidied up her arrow.

"Well if you can vouch for him, I'll let it pass," she said. "Although I didn't know that your senses were this sharp, Hermes. You surprise me."

"They... they are?"

She jumped off the roof, landing in front of them. "Unless you were expecting him?"

"No--"

"Then that's my point. You keep an eye on him then, all right? I don't think he'll be staying long anyway."

She darted away, through the passageway Hermes had used to come. Her quiet footsteps quickly vanished. It was as if she had never been here in the first place. Charon had heard tales of Artemis and her legendary discretion and he had to admit that she truly was the real deal.

"Sheesh," said Hermes in a hushed voice. "Did she think that you were a Titan? Sorry about that. She can be a hassle but I promise she's nice. Sometimes. You know, when she's actually around. Are you all right?"

Charon nodded. Shyly, scared that maybe Hermes wouldn't want that to happen again, he reached out to his mind with his. Hermes allowed it like he had allowed it last time, letting him peer into him He did it so naturally, too, accepting him close. And suddenly the pressure of the surface on him wasn't so overwhelming anymore. Everything would be all right.

"Why are you here?" Hermes asked.

Charon didn't really know how to answer that question other than by readjusting Hermes' hair, slipping it behind his ears. And then he brushed his clothes back in order. Hermes let him do and somehow understood.

"I'm doing all right," he said. "You came all the way here to see me?"

 _Yes._ Of course he had.

"That's... that's really nice of you."

For a second, Charon thought that Hermes was about to cry: he bowed his head and rubbed the corner of his eyes. Alarmed, Charon reached for him and rose his head again, and found that his eyes were shiny.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to cry," said Hermes. "Again. Oh gosh, I must have been an absolute mess when I visited you. No wonder you've taken to pity me."

_No._

"You're just saying this to make me happy--"

 _No_.

"Ah, all right, I trust you. I was still a mess."

Charon shrugged. He didn't feel as if he was qualified to rate someone's degree of messiness based on their emotional state. Lack of experience with socialising and all that. That didn't mean he had no sympathy, or even empathy, for what Hermes was going through. Despite himself, despite everything he had gone through, he was rapidly growing attached to the little God.

"I'm still glad you came," he said. "That's really nice of you." Beat. "I don't think that the other Gods would do the same if I... you know. Lived apart from them. I mean, they are nice. Just... also very self-centred." He chuckled. "Which... might be expected for a God. You know?"

_Yes._

"You really do? What happened?" Hermes suddenly realized that Charon couldn't quite answer him. "Ah shit. You know what, one day I'll be able to read your mind, and you'll tell me about it. All right?"

That... touched Charon more than it should have. No one really did that for him. Well, maybe his brother Hypnos, but that was because he used Charon's boat as a refuge when hiding from his bully Alecto. Hermes's intentions were a lot more selfless and it touched him. Even if he knew that it was nothing but a promise for now, it made him happy. In the meantime, he was more than happy to just listen.

_Yes._

Hermes looked up at him, and for a second he was gazing intensely at the little he could see between Charon's collar and his hat. As an instinctual response, Charon rose his hand but stopped himself before he could cover it. There was no disgust on Hermes' face, just curiosity. And he noticed the other protective gesture.

"Does it disturb when I look at you?" asked Hermes.

Charon didn't respond. That was a loaded question, for him at least. It was also the first time someone asked him like that, out of respect for him. That's what decided him.

_No._

"I have the impression that you hide from me, sometimes. Demeter told me-- Well, I don't think that you know her, but she said that she heard of you. That some people think you look different."

A silence. Hermes was visibly struggling with finding the right words.

"I think what I mean is that I would like if you didn't hide your face around me," said Hermes. "I think it's interesting - and I really don't mean that in a bad way."

Interesting? Well that was new. He did pull down his collar a little, just to show that he understood what Hermes meant. Charon had no lips to smile with it did warm his heart.

"Are you happy now?" asked Hermes.

_Yes._

"All right, so that's how your mind looks like when you are. So now I can tell when you're smiling."

Charon couldn't talk but he had developed a way to laugh that was his own, a raspy sound that chased billows of smoke from his lungs. But mid-way through that he was wrecked by a coughing fit, the type that sounded horribly like he was dying. And it hurt.

"Charon! Are you all right?"

He patted Hermes on the head, then pointed at the sky.

"Oh, you're already-- All right." Hermes was quick to hide his deception. "Well, it was nice to see you, it really was, partner. You know, I'll be dropping by your place soon, too. I'm getting new shoes so-- You'll be the first I visit for sure. Not that I have anyone else but even if I did, you would still be the first. And-- Hey, you're smiling again now."

_Yes._

He didn't want to leave. Even if the conversation was one-sided, even if the place was literally killing him, he couldn't get enough of Hermes' smile. He had come to see if he was all right but, in the end, he realized that it also had been for his own, selfish enjoyment. Strangely enough, he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed of that.

"Guess it's time for goodbye," said Hermes.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around Charon's chest and hugged him. Even though his thick clothes, Charon felt the sheer energy that radiated from him - not exactly warmth but the sensation it gave was close to that. And then before he knew it Hermes had drawn away from him.

"Bye-bye!" he said, waving his hand.

Not really knowing what to do, Charon waved back, turned around, and slipped between dimensions, moving like a robot. In his chest, his heart was beating very, very strong.


	7. In Between

"So," said Hermes. "Those are?"

He pointed to the sandals in front of him. They were pretty, he had to admit, with their little decorative wings. He rather liked them.

"Yeah, yeah, try them on," grumbled Hephaestus. "See if you got to adjust anything. I'll get it done quick."

Hermes picked the sandals up from the table and dropped them on the ground. He then crouched to get them on. They fit him nicely, he had to admit, snuggly enough that it was as if he was barefoot. This was typical of his works: no matter what he tried his hand on, no matter how much time he spent on it, they ended up being as perfect as one could be.

"So, so," said Hephaestus. "I've been doing some things... can you feel them with your godly powers?"

Hermes, intrigued, extended his senses. There was, indeed, a lot more than what met the eye to his new shoes. Just like their physical feel, they fitted so well against the limit of his powers that it felt natural. He had not even noticed until it was pointed out.

"Oh," said Hermes. "What do they do?"

"I've added some modules so that they can be... hmm. So that they can shape themselves. To you. And what you do with them."

He moved his hands around as he explained in ample, slow movements. Hephaestus gestured a lot when he spoke, yet nothing about him was quick frantic. He was steady. One, if they were to be fooled, might even think that he was clumsy. This couldn't be further from the truth. With Hephaestus slow yet constant movement came a precision that was out of this world - and that made him quick in his work, paradoxically, because he only had to do things once for them to be perfect.

Hermes was starting to gain a newfound appreciation for the artisan God. He was unlike anyone else he knew on Olympus, different. He stood out and Hermes was starting to wonder if he really cared whether or not the others liked him. He gave out that sort of strength.

"Do you mean that the more I use them a certain way, the more effective they will be?" asked Hermes.

"Ah, yes. That's what they do. Although they are not completely neutral. I've looked through the user logs on my wife's ship, to see a bit how you... move, I suppose." He stroked his beard. "Then I've entered the data in the artificial intelligence and she did give me a list of the most probable used... they are already primed for moving fast, as you like it. But more as... a help for your powers. Like... little weelies to learn how to ride a bike. And then the wheelies can turn into a motor when you get good."

"Oh." Hermes didn't really know if he was feeling grateful or insulted. Probably a little of both.

"And also, Demeter came while I was working on them. Wanted to know what they do. 'You got to put security on them,' she said, 'so he won't be going to that awful Underworld.' And then she put my meal on the table and left without another world."

"Oh," said Hermes. "So I can't... go to the Underworld while I have them on?"

"What?" Hephaestus looked at Hermes like he had said something insane. "Of course not. I added some wheelies for that too on it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I do them for you... not Demeter. You can even tell her. I don't care."

"Aren't you scared she would stop cooking for you if I did?"

Hephaestus shrugged. "That's another deal we got, between her and me. Nothing you do can change that. It's because we're sort of the same, her and I."

"You're the same?"

"Yeah. On the side. We carry other Gods, do the simple work. Hmmm... maybe simple is a bad word. Modest, I think. We do the modest things. Nothing very glorious about us, unless you're a farmer or an artisan. But when you are glamorous... like a lover or a warrior, you can afford not to care about the clothes you wear and the food you eat. But if we stopped, we'd have to be replaced."

He nodded gravely, remaining quiet for a while. Hermes did a little sidestep. His shoes suited him so well that it was a delight to just move.

"I care," said Hermes. "I'm grateful for you two. Demeter has been cooking meals for me and seeing that I don't... feel to down. She's grounding me."

"That's good then," said Hephaestus, "I think you are like us. Sometimes I see myself a little in you, even if we are different."

"You do?"

Hephaestus, for the first time since Hermes knew him, seemed a little embarrassed. Or at least Hermes thought so. How else was he going to call the way he looked at his nails, picking at the extra skin of his fingertips?

"We're very different," said Hephaestus. "But when I was young, I wanted to be like the others... you heard what they say about me. I was very lonely. But I discovered that there is beauty in being myself and doing what I do best... although I've made many mistakes before reaching that spot inside of me, like demanding that my wife be given to me. You too are looking for that place inside, aren't you? That place where you find yourself."

Hermes didn't know what to say, so he just nodded quietly.

"I know..." continued Hephaestus. "I am not good with words. Or pretty. Or even nice... I don't fit what you might want to become. But I would be honoured if I can help you come to that same place inside where you are happy. I can't tell you where it is, I don't know. But..." he gestured to Hermes' new sandals. "I hope that those, at least, will help you get there faster."

"I..." That touched him more than what Hermes had expected it would. "Thank you. I don't know what else to say, even if I feel like I should tell you more--"

"Pah!" cried Hephaestus, startling Hermes. "If there are no words, there are no words. I already did what made me happy. Now leave, run off to the Underworld or something. Do all the things. No time to waste. Quick, quick!"

That was a strange thing to say to an immortal God that had all the time in the world, yet Hermes did just that. He turned around, now knowing that Hephaestus wouldn't even mind if he didn't say goodbye, and raced to the elevator. It felt good to run in his new sandals.

Really good.

* * *

Hermes wondered how many knew that Hephaestus had been doing something for him. He doubted they did, otherwise they would have commended on it, probably. Especially Athena, that really ought to know what concerned her and what didn't. But right now, as he left the workshop, no one was waiting for him, and no one was standing between him and the sky.

Although he was wary of flying away while he was at the Hall of the Gods, mostly because he didn't want anyone to know about how he had a new way of escaping them. So, instead of that, he raced through the hallways, listening if there would be anyone coming the other way before turning a corner, and slipped through the front door.

Once outside, standing in front of the mountains of Olympus, he took off. His feet parted from the ground. He found that the wings on his sandals automatically opened wide when he used them but otherwise seldom flapped. It was as if they were gliding.

Hermes laughed in delight then raced on the wind, going down the stairs of the Hall and zipping up a valley.

Olympus was a beautiful planet in of itself. Nourished by the ever-radiant presence of the Gods themselves, it was full of a lush and rich life. The wildlife was full of creature that had evolved to adapt to the constant stream of spare energy or hazardous creations of the Gods themselves. Behind every tree, a wonder, such as a centaur or a nymph, could hide. And there were many more things too, things that Hermes didn't even know about, that lurked in the depth of the earth.

Hermes wasn't very interested in animals and mortal creatures in of themselves. He could get to know them, talk to them, even enjoy their company, but the destiny of an entire nation or species held little to no interest to him unless someone he personally knew had some stakes in it. He had tried, in the past, to force himself to be interested. He now knew that he tired very quickly of such things.

He turned his gaze upwards, now that he was a little bit out of the other Gods' line of sights (except for Arthemis', probably, but while she saw many things she seldom stopped them from happening.) Above him was the blue sky and, beyond that, the eternal field of the many, many stars.

He rushed up, pushing his powers to their limit.

From far, he probably looked like a reverse comet, one that rose towards the sky in the middle of the day.

The grand push even surprised him yet, with his new gift, it felt natural. He sensed how he should use the never-ending well of energy inside him to fuel his advance. Understood how he should sink between the movements of the air itself, between the atoms, to part them so that they wouldn't slow him down. The higher he went the less there was to push anyway, and it only allowed him to get faster and faster. Even the air in his lungs was starting to drain away, leaving a slight ache - that soon faded - as the emptiness pulled at the flesh of his lungs.

He stopped for a moment when he no longer felt the atmosphere slowing him down, having to push with the same strength in the opposite direction so that he would still. He looked... down. He was at the limit of space, where up and down wouldn't matter anymore, but he could still feel the gravity of Olympus. He could see the oceans, the continents and the clouds below him, so far away that they seemed all at the same level. It was as if he was walking on a map.

With no ship to protect him, nothing to hold on to but himself, the feeling of freedom was dazzling. He would have laughed if he could.

He looked up and spread his arms. All of the stars stretched above him, unhindered, timeless. Around each of them were planets, the leftovers of their fitful birth. And on some of those was life, that lived and died so far away from his sight. Even as a God, he was minuscule and unimportant.

He didn't stay there much longer. Even if he had remained there for a thousand seconds, his mind would have gone back to Charon a thousand times more.

Travelling by his own means, without a ship, was longer and more laborious than what he had expected it to be. But he bravely pushed on, helped by his new shoes. He had all the time in the world to think about how funny it was that the first thing he would attempt would be to visit Charon. In fact, he had been waiting for that moment impatiently ever since the chthonic God's visit. But that he wouldn't even show his father also said a lot about the state of his life.

He thought about how it would be easier if he moved into Hyperspace, the domain of his uncle Poseidon.

With no ship to do the work for him, slipping into Hyperspace was a bit of a hassle. He tried several times to find the intangible curtain fold he could open, not to avail, until suddenly he managed to grab what he was looking for. Getting between them was, compared to the sheer emptiness of material space, like sliding under a blanket.

Hyperspace was so much more full and alive, electric even. It was energy that coiled and rolled together, and it had depth one could explore if one could resist the pressure. Hermes probably could, although he wasn't interested in that at the moment.

Poseidon, wherever he was, sensed his presence. Hermes heard his salute from afar, like a laugh that was carried on the wind, as he navigated through the waves of hyperspace. It made Hermes smile even if he didn't respond - he didn't know how to. He liked Poseidon, more than some others. They shared a love for freedom and energy. The only reason they weren't closer to each other was because of how unpredictable the mood of the older God could be.

He emerged approximately near the centre of the galaxy, trying to not come to close to the Styx. Obviously, there were ways to navigate between Hyperspace and the Underworld. Maybe they were even more closely related, with how different they were, but Hermes was unfamiliar with the connection between the two. He was better off doing things as he knew how to do them.

Somehow, that jump was nothing like the one to Hyperspace. The Styx was there to help, weakening the strings of reality, allowing him passage, but it was more than that. It just came naturally to him, and he liked it.

He wondered about what it could mean, and felt hopeful.

There was the in-between, that was so warped that he couldn't perceive it any other way than through his god powers - his other, normal senses seemed to simply switch off. Sinking into the mass of the underworld felt... cold. Empty. The darkness pressed closely on all sides, slowing him down, but he pushed forward and emerged at its surface.

Air filled his lungs once more, making his gasp. He gulped it down, greedy for the sensation of it. It really did feel different from his world. No wonder Charon had such trouble staying on Olympus. Hermes, on the other hand, didn't feel this inconvenienced. He wondered why it was so. Maybe Demeter, if she forgave him for having gone back to the Underworld, could explain to him why it was so.

He was confused when he opened his eyes because he had to wonder if he had not kept them closed. But then he blinked several times and there was still absolute darkness all around him. He had to turn around fully to notice that the only light in this place was far away, like a dot floating on the immense dark waters.

Hermes directed his floating steps towards it.

Moving in the Underworld, or at least in this part of it, felt unsettling. There was no wind, even when he would move quickly, and no sound. Charon had strange tastes if he willingly hung out here.

It occurred to Hermes that he might not be doing that by choice. He remembered Demeter's words, the comment she had made on Charon's appearance in particular. Hermes' heart tightened just thinking about it. He hoped this wasn't the case... that this large, quiet expanse was what made Charon truly happy.

He moved towards the dot of light until he could distinguish the boat itself, and then Charon. The latter seemed to have been sitting at first, but then he stood up, facing the direction from which Hermes was coming. He must have sensed him. He was so sensitive to everything.

Hermes slowed down as he approached the boat. Charon didn't move a single muscle, his face hidden in the shadow of his wide collar, but his single eye gleamed as it always did.

"Hello," said Hermes.

Charon responded vocally, surprisingly enough. The groan that escaped his lips was accentuated by an elegant puff of purple smoke.

"I said I'd come to visit, didn't I?" said Hermes. "And I got new shoes! Check this out."

Hermes focused and tried to make the wings of his sandals flutter. He managed. Somehow. Then he projected his consciousness forward, all against Charon's, only to find out that the latter was already happy to see him.

"But I'm glad to see you are doing better than last time. How are you?"

The was Charon responded looked like his yes, but slightly different again. Hermes guessed that it was the word good.

"That's nice to hear. You worried me last time, you know?"

Charon pointed at Hermes.

"I'm doing fine, thank you. Got any space for lil'old me on your boat? I promise I won't take too much space."

Charon nodded and gestured for him to come on.

Hermes stepped on the wood, feeling quite pleased with himself. He had come all this way on his own. And, while it wasn't the first time he fled his home, this time was different. He wasn't getting away from his relatives, he was coming to visit Charon. This had to be some sort of progress.

He looked up at Charon. And Charon, remembering the promise he had met to Hermes last time they had seen each other, partially undid his collar. But he didn't get rid of his had. Had he forgotten that he was wearing it?

It didn't matter. As long as Hermes could see his face a little more clearly, he was happy. This was more than getting to admire the unusual beauty of it, it was about the trust displayed. Hermes was pleased about it. He wanted it, and he wanted Charon's attention and affection too. He didn't know where that would lead him. It was just a fact he was becoming more and more evident as time went on.

"What are you up to down here?" asked Hermes. "I can't help but wonder what you do."

Charon shrugged.

"You mean to tell me that you do nothing?"

Charon shook his head. He sat down on the side of his boat. It was large enough so that doing so was comfortable like one would sit on a bench. Because it didn't move side to side like a boat on water, such a things was possible.

He then blew a round of smoke. In the light of the lamp at the front of the boat, it rose, slowly changing shape as it did, moving in ways that shouldn't have been possible. Hermes was fascinated by the sight.

Well, he supposed that he could remain a few moments to watch.

He didn't think about it: he just sat down right next to Charon and leaned against him. He knew right away that Charon read his intentions right because he noticeably tensed. Hermes too was nervous. He didn't want to be rejected, but damn it if he had not thought about doing just that as he waited for his shoes to be finished. The worse that could happen was for him to be outright rejected.

He really, really didn't want to be outright rejected.

Charon relaxed, accepting the touch. It was not a yes that he dared to formulate. Even as he was accepting Hermes closer and closer, he didn't want to say anything yet. Because saying it had power and, as things stood, what was between them was as fragile as a soap bubble.

And Hermes knew that this was what he felt because he felt the same way. His touch was a question. He was happy with silence as his answer, for now.

Charon let out a long string of smoke, that floated off, and then another. Hermes was happy just watching, admiring the way the light, so rare in here, played with it.

They sank into a comfortable silence, simply pressed against one another. Hermes listened to Charon's breathing next to him, watched him huff and puff. He was growing more and more persuaded that the other had some sort of control over it even after it had left his body, from the way it moved and contorted elegantly.

Hermes was happy. It was a slow, glowing type of happiness. He remembers feeling it when he was younger, as he spent his afternoon in the rolling fields some of the nymphs of Olympus grew for their own pleasure. Only it was a lot darker here, and colder... He supposed that good company made all the difference.

He found that he was nodding off rather quickly - he had not realised how tired the trip had made him. Charon, after some time, helped him to lay down at the bottom of the boat. Hermes' eyelids felt heavy, too heavy to lift. But he did sense when Charon wrapped his coat around him to keep him warm before he backed away to start rowing his boat.

Hermes smiled in his half-sleep. Charon's smell was of parchment and incense and it filled the half-imagined dreams he had as he listened to the other moving about.


	8. Cold Stone, Warm Hearts

The waters of darkness all around them were very still all around them. Hermes was aware of that even as they moved. There was something beautiful about such peace, really. Beyond the quietness... the quietness in of itself disturbed him. He could not help but recall Demeter's words about how the balance of all the different dimensions would eventually collapse someday. How the energy of the Underworld was constantly being funnelled away.

When one rests, suspended between sleep and consciousness, strange ideas bubble up at the surface of their mind. Hermes wondered if the world he lived in was really necessary. If, somehow, they channelled everything back in here, it would really be a loss. Maybe then the universe would last longer than that. And Charon would live on his little boat in this darkness for as long as he liked.

Hermes saw himself next to him on that boat. For all eternity. The idea secretly terrified him. He was not someone that could stand the idea that nothing would ever change.

He escaped those gloomy thoughts and sat up on the boat to look around. Nothing had prompted him to do so yet he did it anyway, instinctually. He gasped when he saw the vast, dark columns, the front of cold black stone and the steps that lead up to them. Never had he expected such a sight. He should have known that, at one point, the neverending darkness ended.

Charon piloted his boat so that line up with the side of a little pier then got off. But he didn't abandon Hermes. He turned to him then opened his hand and his mind to him. Hermes took the hand and climbed out. He did notice the contact more than he should, how Charon's hand engulfed his own in a strong grip. It was Charon that let it go, otherwise Hermes would have kept holding.

The boat sank in the water behind them. Something about the way it did almost made it seem alive. It took Charon's coat with it - oops. Charon didn't seem to mind.

"What is this place?" asked Hermes. "Is it where you live?"

 _Yes_.

Hermes took in the stonework for a few more moments and Charon waited next to him. It wasn't as grim and scary as Hermes had first believed it was, this was just an impression given to him by the darkness of the stone itself. In fact, it was rather elegantly sculpted. A little bare, of course, but maybe he was just more used to the gaudy decoration of the Hall of Gods.

Charon lived here.

Hermes sent Charon a side glance, wondering what was his plan. Hoping, maybe, although he didn't exactly know for what. His eyes met the one of his companion, that looked away just as fast - as if he had been burned - before he walked up the steps of his home.

Hermes chuckled to himself and followed him.

There was no door to guard the place, not even a curtain to retain the heat of the inside. The interior was bare, devoid of carpets to mute the sound of footsteps. Charon seemed to hesitate on the threshold for a moment, about to glance back at Hermes - stopping himself halfway through. He looked very nervous. Hermes guessed that this was the feeling he was reading from his mind as well.

"It's all right," he said. He didn't really know what was supposed to be all right. He just knew it was.

He reached out to touch Charon over his sleeve and heard the other take in a sharp inhale. This time, their eyes met for real. With his coat gone, he didn't have any collar he could hide in, not anymore.

"Show me around?" suggested Hermes.

Charon did.

Hermes found himself using the power of his shoes to float a little above the ground, enjoying himself. he had to repress the urge to dart ahead just to fell the speed at which he could do so, zipping through the entire complex in mere seconds to see everything at once. Instead, he snailed along at Charons' pace, listening to the telepathic messages he got from him and understanding them from context.

It was not that he was bored with the visit. He learned lots of things from it, like the names for the different rooms. But looking at Charon just move and be himself was a lot more interesting.

Maybe he stared a little. Charon would stare back too, sometimes.

Hermes had told himself that he would not blow ahead like a gush of wind, but when Charon opened the door to his room he did it anyway, without thinking.

It was a miserable place, that room, dark and bare, with a bed in a corner and a single window with a view on the pitch back outside. A lamp, similar to the ones that they had seen all over the house, lit up over Hermes when he entered.

He turned around and Charon was standing at the door, staring.

Hermes giggled - actually giggled - and went to sit on the bed. It was a little plain, but it most certainly felt more comfortable than the bottom of a boat. He was happy that this was the case, that they had this place all for them, whatever they ended up doing to one another.

The god had many, many ideas about what they could be doing. He wanted it because it was spontaneous and fun, and Hermes _craved_ fun. He wanted this tiny room to be made special, if only for a moment, despite the black stone and dark window.

He patted the bed next to him, looking at that Charon at the door. Charon turned _purple_. And while there had been hints of a blush on his cheeks before, this was the first time that Hermes saw it so distinctly. It amazed him. That Charon would be so _other_ , yet that his feelings would be displayed on his face in such an obvious way... that he would be aroused by Hermes. It only gave fuel to Hermes' own desire.

Charon darted away, disappearing from the door frame.

Hermes got up with a start and rushed after him, surprised that he would run away. Not that Charon ran long. The moment he was out of sight - protected - he had started to walk again, although that pace was the briskest walk Hermes had ever seen Charon perform. Hermes could have passed him to stop him, but he didn't dare. Feeling as if he had done something bad, he followed Charon in silence to the kitchen.

Charon didn't look at Hermes once there. He went right for the sink, grabbing a glass from a cupboard, and poured himself a glass of water. He downed it, throwing his head back so that he would aim it to his lipless mouth.

With every second that passed, Hermes felt worse and worse about himself. He didn't understand what Charon was going through but his mind was in chaos. Hermes pulled the single chair of the kitchen and sat down.

Charon turned around but he remained as far from Hermes as he could, standing by the counter.

"I'm sorry," said Hermes.

Charon took a deep breath. His single eye could glow, and that glow would dart around as an iris would. He looked to the side. A moment went by and he seemed to relax, slowly.

And then something crossed his mind again and he brought his hand in front of his mouth, blowing a thick puff of smoke between his fingers. Hermes was starting to get worried about the state Charon seemed to be in. Was that normal for him? He wished they could talk.

"Are you all right?" asked Hermes as he took a few steps towards the other. "Charon?"

Charon stared, hand still in front of his mouth. There was something intense about the way he looked at Hermes, up until the point where he slowly gestured to Hermes to come closer.

Hermes obeyed, his heart beating so powerfully in his chest that it made his ribs shake. Charon loomed over him. When Hermes was not flying, he had to crank back his head to look at the other in the eye.

Charon rose a hand and stroked Hermes' cheek. Once. Slowly, from the corner of his lip right to the ear, following the line of his cheekbone on the way. The back of his fingers was softer than his palm and he touched Hermes even more delicately than he usually did. Hermes reached up to that hand before it drew away to hold it in his, right there. It was warm. Or maybe that was just his cheeks that were warm.

A long puff of smoke, punctuated by a shuddering groan, escaped Charon's mouth. He had a small start forward, a movement that was stopped in the middle and withdrawn, as if Hermes wasn't going to notice that. As if Hermes didn't want this as much as he did.

Hermes rose in the air, hand on one shoulder, to land the smallest of pecks against Charon's teeth.

Charon drew away from the touch quickly. If he would have had a collar to hide in, he would have done so. Alas, his coat had been left on his boat and he was all in the open for Hermes to see.

And Hermes had certainly noticed that he had yet to be pushed away. It would have been easy for Charon to do so, very easy, considering their vast differences of strength and size, but it was not so. He did not insist but he waited, knowing that his patience was about to be rewarded.

Charon turned his head back to Hermes. Once more, smoke escaped from between his teeth but, this time, it went to stroke Hermes' face.

Hermes' lips.

It was the lightest of touch when he did so, almost a dream. But it was real. And Charon was showing him how he wanted it, showing that he wanted it at all. The surge of happiness it created in Hermes made the wings on his sandals beat enthusiastically and he went for another kiss.

Charon had no lips to reciprocate, but when Hermes opened his mouth he tasted the smoke that filled it. He wrapped his arms around Charon's neck and Charon held Hermes at the back. Their bodies lined up closely. They shared heat.

Hermes ended the kiss with a swipe of the tongue and blew out the leftover smoke. The skin of Charon's cheeks was bright purple.

"It seems silly," said Hermes, "but I really, really wanted to."

_Yes._

Charon reached up to touch Hermes' face. It was as if he couldn't get enough of the God, he had to make sure that he was really there, that this was real. Hermes giggled a little as he did so, letting him do as he pleased. There was adoration in that touch. Even if Charon couldn't talk to Hermes... for now, he was overflowing with nothing but tenderness.

Hermes had missed that. So, so much.

He wondered if that was the reason he was attracted to Charon. For a second, he wondered if the quickening of his heart when he looked at his face was because he only wanted to be loved. That it might vanish when he had enough.

But then he realised that he wouldn't be scared of losing it if there was nothing to lose. He wouldn't be scared of using Charon for his selfish needs if he didn't care about Charon himself. There was something there. He didn't know what it was yet, maybe naming it would be caging it when it was so young and fragile. But he wanted to be with Charon, spend time with him, learn about him. It just felt like the right thing to do. Because Charon was someone like him but not quite, a God that wasn't part of his family back in the Hall of Gods. And he cared.

Hermes also wanted to get him naked. It was just too bad he seemed very shy, for now, but he was certain that he could worm himself up to that at some point. Hermes had already noticed that Charon was attractive and no amount of wide, baggy clothes could hide that from him.

In fact, he wanted to try again right that second. He pulled one of his arms back and went to fiddle with the top of the second layer that protected Charon, at a knot that held the head opening tight together.

His hand was covered by Charon's immediately.

"Awww," said Hermes. "Not even a little bit?"

_No._

Hermes chuckled, and it seemed that Charon chuckled as well from the sounds he made himself. But he did blow a large puff of smoke in Hermes' face. It tickled and caressed him sweetly.

"Someday?"

_Yes._

"What else is there to do around here?" asked Hermes.

That seemed to spark something in Charon, that rose his finger high in sudden excitement. Hermes had to lean away as Charon disengaged and moved away, out of the kitchen, rather swiftly one might add. Hermes, curious as to see what got his so animated, followed him.

He led his guest to a room that they had not yet visited, beyond his bedroom, and presented it to Hermes. For the first time, the latter saw something a little more entertaining to look at than bare rocks and minimalistic furniture.

"Rocks?" asked Hermes, surprised.

They were indeed rocks, rows and rows, placed in glass displays. And it wasn't that Hermes was against that, but that was one of the most surprising collection he had seen. They all seemed black at night, even in the somewhat more intense light.

Charon seemed adamant about it. He moved to one of the displays and opened it, picking a specimen to show to Hermes. He pointed to one of the ridges and Hermes notices that, while the material seemed to be black, it had iridescent, green-tinted reflections. A second look around and he noticed that all the rocks seemed to reflect a slightly different shade of light each time.

So that's what it was.

Hermes chuckled a little, pleased that Charon was showing him something that he was obviously passionate about. But Charon didn't seem satisfied with just that. He made his way to a desk that was standing there with some writing material on it and scribbled something on a piece of paper, quickly and efficiently. He showed to Hermes.

_I like shiny things and they tend to be quite rare around here._

"Oh!" said Hermes, understanding how this could be important to Charon.

Of course. He had taken those rocks for granted because he came from a place that had prettier ones but he had not considered how that might be different for Charon. He should have. From what he had seen of the Underworld, or at least the part where Charon lived, it wasn't a very lively place.

"Can I contribute?" asked Hermes. "I could bring you things from my world."

that seemed to please Charon, that blushed and tried to hide it - rather unsuccessfully - behind his paper.

_Yes._

"Mind showing me your collection some more?"

Charon seemed more than happy to comply.

Of course, that was a trick. Hermes didn't really care about some rocks. But he could watch Charon get ridiculously happy about his pile of pebbles and that was enough for him. And all he had to do was to pretend as if he paid attention to whatever was shoved in his vision and nod in admiration. But really, the only thing being admired was Charon's animated hand gestures and the was he puffed enthusiastically.

Even he noticed after a while that Hermes was looking at him more than at his collection and that seemed to sober him up a little. His eye avoided Hermes'.

"I just love looking at you," said Hermes.

This time, Charon hid behind his hand as he looked away. Hermes laughed. Making him go bright purple was too easy.

He was cut off when Charon leaned in to kiss him. Not that he minded being cut off this way. Charon's smoke tasted like incense - it could get intense, but that was what Hermes liked most about his kisses.

So he kissed him some more, again and again, coming up for air and diving back in, until his nose, his head, his heart was full of Charon. And yet he couldn't get enough. Or maybe it was that he couldn't get enough air, because he was drowning in him.

It was Charon that stopped him, turning his head away.

"Enough?" asked Hermes.

Charon just nodded.

Hermes unglued himself. And here he was again, wanting to get Charon undressed. Maybe it was best if he left before insisted once more on the subject.

"Do you know how much time it's been since I came here?"

_No._

"Ah, I guess time feels irrelevant here. But I think it's been a while. It was really nice hanging out with you, I'm so happy we did that, but I think I should get going."

Charon nodded.

He showed him to the entrance of his home and Hermes followed his slower pace, just to spend a little more time with him. He didn't want to leave. He just knew he had to.

He managed to worm in one last kiss at the door and took the memory of it with him on his long trip back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason why the initial chapter count was so low (10 chapters) was because they were supposed to start "concluding" - if you catch my drift - in this chapter. In my initial plan. Before I started to write for it. Before Charon and Hermes started to grow all romantic on me and just ended up exchanging kisses. 
> 
> Don't let any writer tell you that they control the characters. If they do, they are liars. 
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter. I'll just... take a moment to pray this doesn't turn into a 40 chapter long monstrosity. _Again._ Just because we got to wait on _mister Charon_ and _mister Hermes_ to take their sweet damn time as if everyone around here was immortal. 
> 
> I'll be fine. I promise. Just need a moment.


End file.
